Crazed into a spell

Crazed into a spell
Of one view only
To the exclusion
Of everyone else
Trampling others
With hardly regard
Putting down most
But one’s very own
Overbearing at best
Or, rather at worst
That is how come
Humanity may fail
If enough do insist
Without letting go
Of their own craze
Seeing one way
As the only one
Vilifying others
Feeds friction
Instead of love
As they all claim
Unity mandated
Shall fall apart
Sooner or later
And make room
For love’s bloom.

“Humpbacks breach the surface” — a dreamscape

From “I Heard The Owl Call My Name” by Margaret Craven

I think it is time you knew of Tagoona, the Eskimo. Last year one of our white men said to him, “We are glad you have been ordained as the first priest of your people. Now you can help us with their problem.” Tagoona asked, “What is a problem?” and the white man said, “Tagoona, if I held you by your heels from a third-story window, you would have a problem.” Tagoona considered this long and carefully. Then he said, “I do not think so. If you saved me, all would be well. If you dropped me, nothing would matter. It is you who would have the problem.” — p. 70

A survivor’s next generation bloom — crazed into a spell?